


Legacy

by ges_who



Category: Original Work
Genre: Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fantasy, I Tried, Idiots in Love, Non-binary character, Original work - Freeform, Other, Revolution, Romance, i guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:13:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24014998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ges_who/pseuds/ges_who
Summary: Alrie Amari's sister is the leader of the People's Fight, an organization that is determined to take down the monarchy of Sebainia no matter the cost. Revolution may be in their blood, but all Arlie wants is an end to the fighting.Magnus DeGeld is the crown prince of Sebainia who is running from both his father and his future.When a chance encounter leads to Magnus becoming a prisoner of the People's Fight, Arlie is forced to choose between saving him from a painful death, and betraying their sister and their cause.
Relationships: Arlie Amari & Imani Amari, Arlie Amari/Magnus DeGeld, Original Character(s) & Original Character(s), Original Character(s)/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 1





	1. Arlie

**Author's Note:**

> I have a good chunk of this written already, so I will be updating it periodically. I've been working on it for a while now and I'm happy with it, but nowhere near finished. I just hope that someone else out there will care about these idiots as much as I do.

My older sister doesn’t usually hold these meetings in town, so close to the castle. She’s getting sloppy, desperate. Or maybe more confident. They look the same on her. Her arms, muscle bound and covered in scars wave emphatically as she speaks to the small crowd gathered around her in the basement of this run-down little tavern. The candlelight glints off her bronze skin and golden hair, and she looks magnificent in her rage. I have never understood how she can speak the way she does, inspiring people in the space of a breath, turning barns and basements into amphitheaters and filling them with her passion.

My sister, Imani, is a leader of the People's Fight, as was our mother before her. Mom got involved with the fight because she believed that the monarchy was corrupt, and that the government should be run by the people. She died for those beliefs. Imani picked up the torch and has been running with it ever since. I don’t know how she doesn’t get tired out, I’m exhausted just acting as security detail for these late-night meetings. They’ve been getting more and more frequent in the past year or so. I considered asking why, but a voice in my head that sounds suspiciously like my father says the less I know about all this mess the better. I’m inclined to agree.

The meeting is taking a recess. Imani makes eye contact with me through the tiny window into the basement I’ve been sitting by, then beelines to the door. I sigh, looking away.

“You know Arlie,” she says, sliding down the wall to sit next to me after making her way outside “You could actually come inside and participate in the discussion. It wouldn’t kill you.”

“You sure about that? There’s a lot of candles in that tiny room; could be a fire hazard.” I reply as dryly as I know how. She smirks, then tries to smother it.

“I know you don’t care about the political stuff, but you’re getting older-”

“Yes, that’s how the passage of time works.”

“-And as an Amari, a child of our mother, it’s your moral duty to do your part-”

I stand up suddenly, tired of having this conversation for the third time in a month.

“I am doing my part. I sit out here every night, making sure some Bourgeoisie dandy or jumped-up policeman doesn’t catch wise to your antics and turn you in. I sit in the cold and I keep your ass out of jail cells or, heaven forbid, the gallows.”

“And I appreciate that!” Imani cuts in, “But I want your heart to be in the cause, not just your body. I want you to be here because you believe in justice!”

She’s on her feet now, a few inches taller than me and lit from behind by a streetlamp. It glows through the frizzes of her hair that have escaped her braid, giving her a messy golden halo. I sigh and look away from her intense gaze.

“I believe in you, which is pretty much the same thing. Don’t ask me for more than that, because I don’t have it.” I grumble, glancing back at her face.

Imani sighs and exhales her rage along with her breath. I’ve always had that effect on her, like throwing cold water on burning coals.

She shakes her head, and heads back inside to continue her meeting. I turn my gaze back to the street. It’s mostly empty at this hour, but I’m not taking any chances. One of us has to be cautious.   
\-----------------  
It’s a few more hours until the PF meeting is over, and the sun has started creeping its fingers over the horizon. People have to leave the tavern basement a few at a time, so as to not garner suspicion. As usual, Imani and I are last to leave, along with some of her inner circle. Finley, who has skin the color of milk and hair that isn’t much darker, with the build of an ox. Lin, who is considerably smaller and darker, with a truly impressive penchant for explosives and projectiles. I’m relieved to see that Imani has chosen to surround herself with the people who are most useful in combat. I could beat either of them in hand to hand, but they’d both be fine up against your run of the mill police officer or royal guard. I only wish they’d be quieter, the way they’re laughing and carrying on makes me think that the three of them may have been taking advantage of the fact that their meeting was in a tavern. I don’t love being the only person in the group with all their wits about them, but as I watch my sister smile wider than she has in weeks, I can't summon too much anger.

As we near the outskirts of town, I see movement out of the corner of my eye. Some shadow has shifted in an alleyway. I am so exhausted that I can barely keep my eyes open, and we really do need to get to our camp outside the city before the sun comes up. It would be completely reasonable for me to dismiss the movement as a figment of my imagination, or an alley cat, and keep walking. Unfortunately, I am an Amari, and like my sister and our mother before us, reasonable is not in my nature. I catch Imani’s attention, and even in her tipsy state she picks up on my non-verbal cues. Finley and Lin are a little slower on the uptake, but they get with the program quickly enough. I dart into the alley way as they block the entrance. Whoever is here (and it was a who) ducks behind some crates, but I catch them by the wrist before they can even look at their options for escape. After a pitifully brief scuffle where I dodge a few clumsy swing and pin them to the wall in one movement, Imani makes her way over. The hooded figure is a head taller than me, but easy enough to keep pinned as they struggle. 

My sister smirks, “You know, it’s not a good idea to be sneaking around town at this hour, people might think you’re up to some shady shit.” she informs them, primly.

“That’s rich, coming from you.” they (he?) grumble back.

“What’s rich is whatever that cloak is made out of.” Finley pipes up. He’s right, of course. He was a tailor’s apprentice before he got mixed up with my sister, and while he may have lost his apprenticeship, he never lost his sense of fashion.

“Let’s see who this fancy cloak belongs to, then.” Imani says, flipping the hood of the cloak back and revealing our captive’s face. From where I have him pinned; I can only see the back of his neck. His skin is dark brown, and his hair is short but (I’m fairly certain) stylish. He doesn’t seem all that remarkable to me, but whatever Imani sees stops her dead. She, Finley, and Lin all stare at him in shock.

I’m beginning to wonder if they’re more drunk than I originally thought when Lin says, in her usual soft lilt, “Holy shit. Arlie has the crown prince pinned to the wall!”

I feel shocked for all of one second before the feeling morphs into chagrinned exhaustion. Of course. Because my life isn’t complicated enough already. My dread grows all the more when I glance at Imani; she’s grinning at me like I’ve just given her the greatest gift in the world. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this exhausted.


	2. Magnus

I have never felt so exceptionally stupid in my life, and that’s saying something. I’m actually a fairly smart person, but I have a long history of poor decision making. The time I decided to go skinny dipping in the Priest's holy springs, the time I agreed to an offer of betrothal from both the prince and princess of the same country (they were both very persuasive!), and even the time I tried to run away from home as a small child into the royal wood (which is completely enclosed within the castle walls) pale in comparison to this moment right here, where I am tied to a post in some barn, several days ride away from home and with no idea where I am or how to get where I was going. Even if I could get out of my binds- which I can’t, they’re very well tied- I am being guarded by one of the scariest people I’ve ever met. 

I picked up from their sister, who appears to be something of a leader to these people, that their name is Arlie. They aren’t actually all that physically intimidating, measuring up to maybe 5’5”, and probably not much more than 120lbs. All of those pounds, however, must be pure muscle judging by the strength I felt when they pinned me against that ally wall.   
Arlie doesn’t talk much in general so the time they’ve spent guarding me in between bouts of walking through the woods and interrogation sessions have been silent, if comparatively pleasant. Peaceful, even. I might have found that sort of calm stoicism and impressive strength attractive- might have found this person attractive in general, with their intense amber gaze and golden hair- if I hadn’t spent every moment since being captured fearing for my life. 

I don't know what these people want with me. Well, that’s not exactly true. I know they wanted information, but after “interrogating” me for a day or so, they realized that I don’t have any information that would be tactically advantageous to them. Even if I did, they wouldn’t have been able to get it out of me with those pitiful interrogation techniques. Sure, they hit me and roughed me up a bit, but that’s nothing. If it were my father’s royal interrogators running this show, I’d have at least three broken fingers and possibly be hallucinating from dehydration by now. 

On second thought, maybe I should be less judgmental and more grateful,

I remember the day my father made me watch the interrogations, to prepare me for the day I would be king. I remember him rubbing my back as I threw up into a very expensive vase in the hallway, I remember how I looked into his crystalline blue eyes, the same as mine, and asked Why? And he said To keep us safe as if that was an actual answer but I didn't ask again because he looked disappointed enough in me already-

My companion shifts, knocking me out of my maudlin musings. I try to smile at them winningly, which is difficult with a split lip that’s only just started scabbing up. 

“So, your name is Arlie? I’m Magnus.” This is the first time I’ve been left alone with them, and I’m hoping to find them more sympathetic than their zealot sister. Unfortunately, all they do is look away from me, pulling a knife out of seemingly nowhere. I flinch away, fear flooding my gut for one unbearable moment, but then Arlie pulls a small block of wood out (also out of nowhere, how many pockets does this person have?) and starts expertly dragging their blade over it.

“I know what your name is.” they say with no inflection. For a moment I think I may have managed to finally start a conversation, but that’s all they say. I suppress a sigh of frustration. 

“What are you carving?” I try. They glance up at me, amber eyes stripping back all of my blasé outer layers and passing unseen judgement on what they find underneath. I try not to squirm, try not to break eye contact.

“I don’t know yet,” they say, face as blank as ever but a spark of light entering their gaze, “I never know what I’m making until I’m done.”

As much as I appreciate that they decided to speak to me, I have absolutely no idea how to respond to that. Before I can come up with something, the big, blonde, and rather stylishly dressed brute that commented on my cloak in that alley way barges in through the barn doors. He nods at Arlie, who nods back. They get up to leave, but not before sparing me one last glance. Their face is impossible as ever to read, but I like to think that maybe I’ve made an impression on them. Maybe. Hopefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any and all feedback is appreciated!


	3. Arlie

I knew I should have said no when Imani asked me to guard “the prisoner” for the duration of his stay with us. I know that his name is Magnus, but I can’t bring myself to call him that. It’s so painful to think of him as a person, to think of him at all. He’s been tied up and beaten and dragged away from his home, and it’s all my fault. I wish I hadn’t ever gone into that alleyway, it would have saved everyone a lot of trouble.

Imani thought she could get some useful information from him. She said that once she got what she wanted from him she’d let him go, but he either doesn’t know anything useful or he’s not talking.  
I don’t know why I agreed to watch him, much less talked to him while I did. I can’t stop picturing his face in my head, vulnerable eyes and pained smile flashing in my mind’s eye whenever I blink. I sigh, putting his stupid, guilt-inducing face in a mental box and putting that box on a mental shelf for later. 

I pull back the flap of Imani’s tent, which doubles as a meeting space for her inner circle, and plop myself down next to her. She’s pouring over a map, cross referencing it with what looks like a letter. I wait patiently for her to finish.

“I’m officially assigning you to guard the prisoner until we get to the compound. I know I can trust you to keep him in check.” She says, setting her papers down and turning her gaze to me.   
I’m not surprised at our destination. The compound is where the Peoples’ Fight is based; it’s an old family farm that our mother converted into a sort of military base/community center. When people join their fight, they tend to bring their whole families with them, so there’s a lot of kids running around. There’s also a lot of deserters from the royal army, escaped royal prisoners, and a wide variety of other outlaws who have a reason to hate Magnus. The prisoner. Uhg.

“There are people there who are much better at interrogation that anyone here is,” Imani continues casually. She may as well have poured cold water down my shirt. 

The interrogators at the compound learned their trade by experiencing it from the other end of the knife. Whatever parts of them that once felt things like sympathy were carved out by the people who work for Magnus’s father, and that is not a fact that will be lost on them. Imani must see the dread in my eyes because her face shifts from intensely determined to intensely determined and sympathetic. This is an expression that she reserves almost exclusively for me, when I make my misgivings about her plans known. 

“When we get to the compound, we’ll hand him over to the professionals. He has to know something useful, and they’ll get it out of him. Once he gives them the information we need, we’ll send him back to the castle.” She reassures me. 

It isn’t very reassuring: half of it isn’t true and the other half is a lie. He will not be able to give the interrogators what they want because even if he coughs up some information, they won’t be satisfied. If we send him from the compound to the castle, it’s going to be in a box.

**Author's Note:**

> Any feedback is appreciated. Thank you for reading!!!


End file.
